When I meet the father
he is shabby to the outer limits of the genteel. His hat has, I am
sure, supported the suns and snowstorms of a dozen seasons. There
is a threadbare shine on his apparel that suggests a heartache in
each whitened seam, but the ladies are mirrors of fashion, as well
as moulds of form. What can remain for any creature comforts after
all those fine clothes have been paid for? And how much is put
away for the years when the long-suffering money maker will be past
work, or saved towards the time when sickness or accident shall
appear on the horizon? How those ladies had the "nerve" to enter a
ferry boat or crowd into a cable car, dressed as they were, has
always been a marvel to me. A landau and two liveried servants
would barely have been in keeping with their appearance.
Not long ago, a great English nobleman, who is also famous in the
yachting world, visited this country accompanied by his two
daughters, high-bred and genial ladies. No self-respecting
American shop girl or fashionable typewriter would have
condescended to appear in the inexpensive attire which those
English women wore. Wherever one met them, at dinner, FETE, or
ball, they were always the most simply dressed women in the room.
I wonder if it ever occurred to any of their gorgeously attired
hostesses, that it was because their transatlantic guests were so
sure of their position, that they contented themselves with such
simple toilets knowing that nothing they might wear could either
improve or alter their standing
In former ages, sumptuary laws were enacted by parental
governments, in the hope of suppressing extravagance in dress, the
state of affairs we deplore now, not being a new development of
human weakness, but as old as wealth.
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